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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25423261">we're lost in a dream now.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ccl1pp3d_w1ngz/pseuds/ccl1pp3d_w1ngz'>ccl1pp3d_w1ngz</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>- dsaf fics [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dayshift At Freddy's, Five Nights at Freddy's</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Arguing, Co-Written, Crying, Las Vegas, M/M, Making Up, dave makes jack cry, my heart :(, vegas !!!!!!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:26:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,218</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25423261</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ccl1pp3d_w1ngz/pseuds/ccl1pp3d_w1ngz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>'“To think I could trust you…I knew it was a bad choice to let you help! You just fuck up!” </p><p>- title from vegas lights by panic! at the disco</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jack Kennedy/Dave Miller (Dayshift at Freddy's)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>- dsaf fics [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1846129</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>70</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>we're lost in a dream now.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><span>"You fucked it all up, this is your fault! I fucking hate you!” Dave’s voice echoed down the corridor. If Jack could focus on anything other than the tears threatening to roll down his cheeks, he would’ve been concerned about Scott or the children hearing the ordeal.</span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span> <span> “I’m- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fuck up. Please forgive me! I’m sorry, I’ll- I’ll do anything!” Jack forced out the words, his voice cracking - he hoped it wasn’t too noticable - and went back to standing there in tense silence, taking every word that came out of Dave’s mouth to heart. And of course he was. The threatening lilt in the purple man’s voice had Jack’s mind swarming and reeling for any way to stop this, to make it all better because it was obviously </span><em><span>all his fault-</span></em></p><p><span><br/>
</span> <span>“To think I could trust you… I knew it was a bad choice to let you help! You just fuck up!” Dave could’ve gone on forever if he hadn’t been stopped by a sound coming from Jack. He met his eyes to see him trying to choke back a sob, and failing, as proved by the tears cascading down his face like a dam was about to break - and, maybe it was. Dave’s face softened and every instinct Jack had was screaming at him to </span><em><span>get out of there, run away, he can’t see you like this</span></em><span>.</span></p><p>
  
</p><p><span>So that’s exactly what he did. </span><span></span><br/>
<span><br/>
</span> <span>The orange man pushed his weight against the door and darted to the nearest storage room, finding himself surrounded by brooms, bleach, and the general supplies to cover up murders, the standard cleaning closet contents. It was musty and smelled of fuck-knows-what, but it didn’t matter to him, as long as he was away from Dave and the disappointment that came with him.</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He positioned himself against a wall, finally letting himself sob freely, with his concerns about Dave settled in the back of his mind. Maybe if he tried hard enough, he could distract himself from the immense ache in his heart as it broke, knowing that had been the last straw, that Dave had finally come to hate him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Time passed, though Jack didn't know how much, but he assumed it was late as the sounds of screaming children died down and the whirring of the lights from the show room faded. Soon enough, footsteps came down the hall, and he heard a click and the hallway went dark as they receded. Then it dawned on him, he was stuck there for the night. With creepy animatronics, the ghosts of murdered children - and, worst of all - his own thoughts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As much as he wanted to stay away in hopes of living to see the morning, Jack was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. His mind wandered back to Dave. He'd know how to get out of here, he knew this place like the back of his aubergine hand. He thought about the fact that Dave would probably never call him "old sport" - that stupid fucking nickname he'd grown to love - again. Hell, it'd be some sort of miracle if they ever even spoke again.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had started to doze off, which was good in a way, as just thinking about Dave hurt his head and make his eyes fill with that fucking acidic subtance that burnt his face - tears, even if it wasn’t a true way to describe it, that’s what they felt like. Burning shame. Of course, sleeping in a broom closet wasn't a good idea, but what other choice did he have? It's not like he could get up and leave, and there was no way he could get out of working tomorrow. He laid down awkwardly and shut his eyes, as tears began to escape again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jack found himself in the broom closet in the morning. He’d fallen asleep, he realised, as he looked down at his clothes; the same ones from yesterday, wrinkled and twisted, evident that he had slept overnight in the uncomfortable position he’d found himself in after… yeah, he’d rather not think about it. Dave’s words echoed in his head, repeating like the fucking music box they were forced to wind all day - just like they had in the halls when Dave yelled at him. He attempted to stand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Trying to stand was, evidently, a bad idea. His body screamed at him as he propped himself up slightly, looking around the small broom closet. He had no new clothes to change into, and as he realised this, there was a loud knock at the door. The knock echoed, and all Jack could think about was Dave.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dave, Dave, Dave</span>
  </em>
  <span> - it was a chant in his mind, a frown making its way onto his slightly reddened face; he forced himself up and onto his feet, shakily walking to the door, pressing the side of his face to it. He could hear Phone Guy - Scott - talking softly, but couldn’t make out his words; they sounded muffled, like there was something stronger than a simple door between them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe it was just Jack’s mind being muddled after crying himself to sleep and sleeping in a fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>broom closet, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but he could never be too sure.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He opened the door slowly and bit back a soft yawn. He hadn’t slept well, the sudden realisation had him feeling dizzy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh! There you are, Jack,” The phone head smiled - or, well, that’s what it seemed like he would be doing - gently, placing a hand on the orange man’s shoulder comfortingly, “Are you okay? I heard what happened yesterday.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jack tried to give a smile, he really </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>did try, but he couldn’t bear himself to let one adorn his face - could one really replace such a real frown? A real expression of anguish that only one man could truly put there? No, no it couldn’t; all he cared about was Dave, now. No one else mattered. Nothing else mattered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He felt as if he were overreacting. He felt annoying, so he didn’t tell Scott how he truly felt. Though it didn’t show on his face, in his usually emotional eyes, he said slowly, “I’m fine, Phoney.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scott didn’t believe him, not one bit, but he let him walk off in the same clothes as the day before and a sullen look on his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t see Dave for a few hours, but when he did, he wasn’t sure he could handle it. He’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen </span>
  </em>
  <span>him, sure, but they hadn’t interacted at all, purposely avoiding one another throughout their shared shift - it was strange, to say the least. Usually Dave was there to beckon him back to the safe room to tell him what they were going to do next, what he had planned; yet, today, neither of them had stepped foot in there lest they see the other.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scott put them together. Scott fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>put them together</span>
  </em>
  <span>. After hearing the ordeal the day prior, Jack would expect at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>some </span>
  </em>
  <span>compassion from the phone head, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>no; </span>
  </em>
  <span>he and Dave were to go to the safe room together and go through some paperwork or some shit like that. It was strange, very strange, that today they weren’t to perform or do normal dayshift tasks like that… Scott had asked them to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>paperwork </span>
  </em>
  <span>in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>safe room. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jack knew that if he didn’t, he’d probably get fired. Scott was mean like that. And also mean because he was making him work with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dave. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(The orange man wanted to murder Scott.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dave, who hated him. Dave, who was mad at him. Dave, who he loved. Dave, </span>
  <em>
    <span>who didn’t love him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was embarrassed, to say the least, to see the purple man again. Dave had seen him </span>
  <em>
    <span>crying</span>
  </em>
  <span>, had heard pitiful whimpers escape him, heard an apology that went ignored - that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>embarrassing. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Though, most of the reason he didn’t want to see Dave was because he didn’t want to be around someone who didn’t want him there - he didn’t want to get yelled at again, didn’t want to be told how much of a fuck-up he was, how </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid </span>
  </em>
  <span>he was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wanted everything to be fine. He knew he had to face this. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just be normal, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he told himself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>act normal, don’t show how hurt you are, he’ll only laugh. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jack was ready! He was ready to face this head on, without showing any negative emotion towards the man that fucking hates his guts because he was a fuck-up and </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t do anything right and shouldn’t be trusted with anything and-</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t ready. He really wasn’t. He found himself in the safe room regardless, waiting for Dave to show up and glare at him across the room, poke fun at him for crying and running off, or even flat out </span>
  <em>
    <span>ignore </span>
  </em>
  <span>him. Jack preferred the last option. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dave didn’t show up until ten minutes after Jack had made himself comfortable in the small room. His legs were propped up on the table and his arms were wrapped around his middle, absentmindedly tapping a pen against his stomach - he didn’t notice Dave come into the room, though the purple man obviously noticed him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The purple man instantly noticed the dark bags under the orange man’s eyes, noticed the way his eyelids seemed to be drooping slightly - he looked completely </span>
  <em>
    <span>done. </span>
  </em>
  <span>There were tear stains across his cheeks from crying himself to sleep, and the purple man felt a wave of remorse overcome him - not for murdering children, not for ruining the lives of families, but for hurting someone so dear to him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was about to open his mouth and apologise, but then the orange man looked up and they made eye contact; Dave was instantly breathless, staring into those eyes that held so much emotion he felt so overwhelmed looking into them - it was like looking into a constantly swirling abyss, jumping from one emotional world to the next, over and over and over again. He felt as if he could see the </span>
  <em>
    <span>universe </span>
  </em>
  <span>in those eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Though, this time, instead of a certain happiness filling them upon seeing Dave, there was a deep-seated sadness. The tears were back, though not yet streaming down his face like they had the day before, but staying dormant in the corners of the orange man’s eyes like a soon to erupt volcano. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He started speaking, voice cracking dangerously as the words fell from his lips and smashed to the ground like glass, making the room seemingly shake for a second - or maybe it was just the way they affected Dave; it seemed like everything was tilted, fucked up in some way. He had to make this right.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I- I love you, Dave. Please don’t be mad, I’m sorry I couldn’t do it right. I know… I know I’m a fuckup.” They were rushed and filled with sincerity, and Dave felt as if his heart had stopped in his chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In an instant he had pulled Jack up from where he was sat and wrapped his arms around him securely, into a tight embrace that had the orange man almost sobbing in relief. The purple man ran a hand through Jack’s hair comfortingly, “I’m sorry, old sport, I didn’t mean to yell at you or make you feel this bad,” He felt himself tearing up too, “I didn’t mean any of it, my orange baby. I didn’t mean it. I love you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The two stood in the safe room for about ten minutes before they pulled apart and looked down at the stack of papers on their desk - Jack cleared his throat and smiled up at Dave, “So, Vegas?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Vegas!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>- </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They had done the paperwork, trying to make it look like they weren't going to leave, violating the probably-illegal contracts they had to sign. It was mostly sifting through lawsuits, though neither of them could fully focus on the task. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At the end of the shift, Scott had come to check on them, most likely so none of his employees got locked in a broom closet again. Of course, his two star employees - the only ones who seemed to be able to survive at least three days (other than Matt, but there was no telling if was even human) - weren't going to ever step foot in this place again, let alone one of the closets.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The colorful men emerged from the cramped room, and went straight for the door. They had intertwined fingers as they walked past Scott, yelling curses </span>
  <em>
    <span>much worse</span>
  </em>
  <span> than the ones he used. He was in a state of shock as it dawned on him that they weren't returning, whether he had chosen to fire them or not. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Since it was late, the police - who had developed the habit of standing outside the building waiting for them - were gone, leaving a clear path to Jack's run-down car. He threw the keys to Dave, who seemed like he had been to Vegas a lot more times than he should've been able to with a less-than-minimum-wage job. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They got on the road and turned on the radio, cranking the volume up and escaping from the shitty pizza place. At least Scott wouldn't have to worry about kiddie murders anymore, and the two could finally live a life that was more than dark backrooms and sexual tension.</span>
</p>
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